


Just One Word

by bibliomaniac



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drama, Light Angst, Multi, Soulmates, Trans Mettaton, but then again it's mettaton, so much drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliomaniac/pseuds/bibliomaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mettaton got a new body, he decided to throw away his old name and take on the one he's known belonged to him since birth...but he didn't really think through the consequences.</p><p>And then, of course, he meets you.</p><p>(A soulmate AU in which you know the first words your SOULmate will say to you, and Mettaton's word is simply 'Mettaton'.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mettaton's Best Disguise Is Not Really Very Good At All

**Author's Note:**

> lol look at me knee-deep in another soulmate au and doing one for mettaton too but i got this idea in my head and i thought it would be funny so HERE WE ARE
> 
> also cw for a quick mention of a deadname

Everybody is born knowing the first words their SOULmates will say to them. It’s just sort of a funny quirk, your SOUL’s way of confirming to you who you’re meant to be with forever, whether it be romantically or platonically. 

Growing up—or, well, growing older, because as a ghost, he never exactly grew—Mettaton was always confused by his words. Or, in his case, word. 

“Mettaton.”

First off, his name wasn’t Mettaton, nor did he know anybody named Mettaton. Not that it wasn’t an awesome name, but his name was Suzy. Second off, why just say a random name? Seems like a bad way to meet people. Maybe you would be mistaking him for someone else?

But, confusing or no, they were meant to be his, and he couldn’t wait to meet them.

Time passes, and Mettaton has an opportunity. He meets a scientist named Alphys who offers to give him what he’s always wanted—a body, and a chance at a new life. He says goodbye to his cousin Napstablook and hello to a fabulous pink-and-black robotic chassis, and he only cries a little bit. And when Alphys says, “Good morning, Suzy. How are you feeling?”, he just smirks confidently and says, “Mettaton. I’m Mettaton now,” and he feels just that much closer to you.

But even more time passes, and he doesn’t find you. He buries his sadness in work and becomes the biggest star in the Underground, and he doesn’t find you. And there’s another problem, too.

“Y-you’re Mettaton!” squeals a fan, and he turns around reflexively and smiles wearily when he finds a small rock monster, all done up in pink and black to match his paint.

“Yes, darling, that’s me. Would you like an autograph?”

“Holy crap, you’re Mettaton!”

“I don’t mean to bother you, but…you’re Mettaton, right?”

“Mettaton! Mettaton! Mettaton!” chant the crowds at his concerts.

And he smiles his best smiles and gives out his autograph with a flourish and by now he’s not even sure whether one of them was you and he somehow missed it. 

Honestly, by the time a small child makes their way through the Underground and frees them all, he’s quite given up on the very idea of SOULmates. He only has one dream now, and that’s to become the star the humans obviously need.

His job is rewarding, but very tiring, and sometimes he just wants some time to himself. It’s with that thought in mind that he leaves his penthouse on a cold winter day in his warmest coat and best disguise and makes his way to a local café.

He’s sitting down with a nice cup of tea and a muffin and reading some garbage human romance novel when he feels somebody’s eyes on him from the next table over.

He raises an eyebrow at you, expecting you to blush and apologize, but instead your stare is steady and thoughtful.

He tries to go back to his book, but he knows you’re still looking at him.

Finally, he sets down his tea with a definite thunk and glares back, raising both eyebrows this time in challenge.

“Mettaton.” you say slowly, and by now he’s stopped flinching when he hears his own name, because he knows it will never mean what he wants it to.

But it’s his day off, and he’s tired and didn’t bother polishing up his makeup today and he honestly wants to get back to his tea and he can already spot at least two people whose ears perked up at your declaration, so he wraps his scarf more firmly around him and pulls down his beanie and hisses, “No.”

He thinks he spots your eyes widening just a fraction, but they return to normal soon enough. “No what?”

“No, I’m not Mettaton.” he snaps. “Trust me, get it all the time, but—“

You point at the scarf, and—oh, gods, he’s picked the MTT-brand scarf with his face on it and the neon pink letters spelling out ‘METTATON’, hasn’t he. Crap. Why does he even have this, again?

When he looks back up, your eyes are dancing. He scowls, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, and gets up out of his seat, storming over to you and dragging you along with him out the door.

When you reach an alleyway away from prying eyes, he demands, “So what do you want, then? Autograph? Selfie?”

You tilt your head, an action he might think was cute if his own head wasn’t hurting so much. “Um, no, neither, thanks. I just wanted to—“

“To what? Interrupt a peaceful teatime?” He’s aware that he sounds a little pissy, but he has the right to be, doesn’t he? Why couldn’t you have just kept to yourself? He supposes that’s the downside of being a celebrity, no privacy ever—

You reach out and brush your hand against his cheek, and he freezes, starting to blabber out, “Excuse me, but this is highly inappropriate—“

“You had a massive crumb on your face,” you say, displaying the evidence proudly before flicking it away. “It was incredibly distracting. That’s why I was staring at you. Sorry about that, by the way.”

He blinks. What?

“I figured I’d get your attention much easier if I called you by name, so—I guess I just figured if you had a scarf with that on it it must be something personal? I guess not, though.” You tap your fingers on your chin. “What’s your name, then?”

“I mean—you don’t know who I am?” Mettaton asks weakly. Everybody knows who he is.

“Well, you’re apparently not Mettaton,” you say cheerfully. “So that’s one down.”

He buries his head in his hands. “No, I am Mettaton.”

He looks up. Your smile is polite, but confused. “You’re giving off some mixed signals here, friend.”

He sighs deeply. “I was undercover, you understand? I’m quite famous, so if I just gave away my identity in a crowded café—“

“Oh!” You pat a fist into your open hand, eyes sparkling with realization. “That Mettaton! You trend on Headspace all the time. I have a friend who loves you.”

“There we are.” He knows it’s egotistical to feel a bit relieved, but he does nonetheless.

“Makes more sense why you’d ask me if I wanted a selfie and autograph, too,” you muse. “I had thought that was strange. No offense.”

“None taken,” he mumbles. “Now that that’s settled, can we—“

“Crap, and that’s why you dragged me out of there too, huh? I blew it for you.” 

He runs his hands through his hair, starting to feel a bit claustrophobic. “It’s fine, you didn’t kn—“

“No, it’s not!” you say heatedly. “Let me get you something to make up for it, all right? Hang on.”

Before he knows it, you’re running back into the café. Peeking around the corner, he can see you in the checkout line. He contemplates leaving and just going home, but—that would be rude, wouldn’t it?

In a few minutes, you’re back with what smells like tea. “I didn’t know what kind you liked, so I just got my favorite,” you say apologetically. 

“You could have just picked up the remnants of my tea and then it wouldn’t have been a problem, you realize,” he responds coolly, taking a sip of tea and savoring it on his tongue. It’s not bad.

“Oh. True.” Shrugging, you start fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “Oh well.” 

“Thank you all the same,” Mettaton says, because he has manners, darn it. He's about to excuse himself when you beat him to the chase.

“Anyway!” You beam up at him. “It’s been lovely, but I have better places to be than an alleyway with a stranger.” You pause. “No offense, again.”

He’s not sure whether he’s offended this time. “Of course.”

“So, uh…I’m just gonna…” You point at the street. “Yeah.”

He resists the urge to rub his temples. “Please.”

You walk out of the alleyway, waving, and he relaxes, before tensing up again when your face pops around the corner. “Oh, also!”

“Yes?” he groans out, exasperated.

“If you’re trying to be incognito, you might want to wear a different scarf.” You give him double finger guns, then vanish again before he can say anything.

You leave him alone, looking like a total creep in a dirty alleyway with lemon verbena tea, a flashy scarf, and a pounding headache.


	2. Lemon Verbena and Blogs About Butts

Mettaton doesn’t see you again until a few weeks later, when he finally works up the courage to venture back to the café. It is the closest to his apartment, after all, and their chocolate muffins are divine.

He’s in the line for one of the aforementioned muffins and some lemon verbena—sue him, it really was quite good—when he spots you, slouched in a rather unbecoming way on one of the plush armchairs in the corner.

He hesitates, then decides to make the order of tea a double. He had been rather rude to you last time, after all, and it hadn’t quite been your fault that you didn’t know he was trying to stay under the radar.

He slides into the seat across from you and plasters on his most charming smile. “Good afternoon.”

You startle, sitting up stock straight. “Huh? What? I’m totally awake.”

He pushes forward the cup of tea as an offering.

“Oh! Thank you. I had just run out, actually.” You grin at him, then do a double-take. “Whoa, M—“ Your eyes widen, and you correct yourself hurriedly. “Um…M…Mr. Scarf Man?”

He gives you a look. “Really?” he asks with a hint of amusement. “That makes me sound like the antagonist of a low-quality thriller novel.”

You shrug, relaxing minutely. “Starts with an M, though. And I don’t want to give away your…” You do some jazz hands and whisper, “Secret identity.”

He suspects you’re making fun of him, at least a bit. But he reminds himself that he’s here to make amends, not to further sully his reputation, and takes a calming sip of his tea. “Very considerate of you.”

“So why are you here?” you ask curiously. 

Mettaton clears his throat. “I wanted to apologize. Last time we met, I was far from a gentleman. I overreacted and made some assumptions—“

You start waving your hands wildly in the middle of his apology. “It’s fine. I was rude for staring in the first place, and if I were famous I bet I’d be sensitive about it too.”

“Well…if you say so.”

“I do,” you say firmly. “So, uh…you can leave now.”

Mettaton finds himself blinking, speechless for the second time. Finally he says, “I beg your pardon?”

“You were here to apologize, right?” Your head is tilted again. “You apologized.”

“Are you…kicking me out?” He’s not sure whether to be shocked or amused.

“What? No! Well…” 

“This is a public area, you know—“

“I know! I just figured you wouldn’t want to stay and I didn’t want you to feel obligated! Like, famous people have crap to do, right? Famous people crap? Like, you know. Interviews and whatever else.” You’re babbling now, your hands gesticulating wildly. “Plus, I’m a terrible conversationalist. Like, all I do is go on the Internet—“

“But I’m allowed to stay?” he interrupts, because otherwise he thinks you might not stop.

It’s your turn to blink. “Well, yes. If you want.”

“Excellent.” He settles into the seat, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t really want to walk back home after just getting here.”

“Yeah. Uh…yeah. That makes sense.” 

After a mildly awkward silence, during which you twiddle your thumbs and look anywhere but at Mettaton and he stares at you unabashedly, you finally ask, “So, you live close by, then?”

He eyes you warily. 

“I’m not asking to be weird or stalkerish or anything!” you defend yourself. “Just, you said you walked here, and…never mind. Sorry. I should shut up. If it makes you feel any better, I live pretty close too. Not that you care.” You shrink further into yourself with every word, and he decides to let you off easy.

“Yes, I live relatively nearby. Far enough away that I don’t make the walk often, though. Plus, I’m busy.”

“I’m sure,” you say, nodding. “I mean, you’re in lots of stuff, right? I sorta looked you up after I got home last time.”

“I’m flattered,” he says, puffing up a little bit. After all, he’s still a little bit hurt that you didn’t recognize him from the get-go, but there’s nothing wrong with a new fan either. 

Instead of gushing about one of his films or shows, though, which is what he expected—and, if he’s being perfectly honest with himself, kind of what he wanted—you ask, “Do you ever get tired?”

His smile falters, only slightly. “Of what?”

“All of it. You know. Busy schedule, no privacy. Having to deal with people like me all the time.”

“It’s sort of the nature of the business.”

You nod and look back down at your tea, but something compels him to answer further. “But…yes. I do get tired. Days like this are nice.”

“I’m sorry.”

And that’s new, because people have said lots of things to him before—usually love declarations or ‘you’re so talented’ or, you know, ‘have my babies’—but nobody’s ever expressed sympathy for his situation. He’s not sure quite how to feel about it, really. Eventually, he settles on a halting, “It’s fine.”

After that, you don’t ask him about his work. You end up discussing Internet culture, mostly. Mettaton turns out to be surprisingly well-informed on the subject.

“You know way too much about this stuff. You Google yourself, don’t you,” you ask at one point, narrowing your eyes playfully.

“I’d never do anything so vulgar, darling,” he sniffs. “But…” The corners of his mouth curve up wickedly. “I am a member of several Mettaton-themed online communities.”

You laugh out loud at that one. “Really? Bet you’re a member of that one that’s solely dedicated to posting pictures of your butt.”

“I’m a regular contributor,” he says smugly. “But how do you know about that?”

You blush and mumble, “I did say I looked you up.”

He smirks. “Mm. So thorough.”

“Nothing but the best for you,” you proclaim dramatically with a wink.

For some reason that he can’t quite put a finger on, he feels close to you, like he’s known you for years. Your conversation is comfortable, both of your tea cups long since drained and refilled and drained again. 

When you look at your phone’s clock to find it’s several hours later and yelp that you need to get going—something about groceries and adult responsibilities—he’s faintly disappointed. “This may be presumptuous of me,” he asks as you’re packing up your things, “but could I have your phone number?”

You glance at him bemusedly. “Shyness doesn’t become you, buddy. Of course you can have it.”

You exchange phones, and he rolls his eyes fondly upon seeing that you’ve input him as ‘Mr. Scarf Man’. 

“Now, don’t go posting this around. Especially in the butt blog you’re apparently so fond of,” he admonishes, only partly joking. “I shudder to think of what they’d do with this number.”

“Booty calls, of course,” you say sagely, giggling delightedly at his irritated groan. “You walked right into that one. Anyway, I won’t, obviously.” You pat the phone in your pocket. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Famous last words. Anyway, just making sure.”

You’re at the door when he realizes he’s forgotten something very important. “Hey!” he calls out, rushing forward. “Er…what’s your name, by the way?”

Without looking back, you call out over your shoulder, “I’m (Name). Nice to meet you.”

(Name), huh. It’s nice, but he’s still not going to replace the name he has for you in his phone.

(The name is Nice Butt, because he had been peeking and it was true.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your name is (Name) because there are only so many ways one can denote a reader name and ~~~~~~ just looked plain silly in context. 
> 
> mettaton stop objectifying reader-chan by the way they are so much more than a nice butt smh


	3. Douchey McDoucheface

Mettaton doesn’t really want to be the first one to text you. He has a reputation to uphold, after all. But he starts to reconsider after three days pass with no word from you. He had thought the conversation went well, but maybe he was wrong? He pushes away the urge to text you something and throws himself into his work.

He’s in a meeting for an upcoming show when his phone buzzes. Thinking it might be Alphys getting back to him about some upgrades they’ve been discussing, he surreptitiously pulls it out of the pocket of his jacket and checks the screen. It is, of course, a message from you.

“one of your movies is on rn should i check it out?” 

He grins. Finally. He knew waiting was the right idea. “Which one is it?”

“idk it’s called soulless”

Gods, of all of the movies…“Turn off the television immediately. One of my worst films.” 

“im sorry did u say…keep watching? im pretty sure thats what u said”

“That is the exact opposite of what I said and you know it”

“too bad ive got popcorn now we’re in this for the long haul”

“Mettaton?” Mettaton looks up from his phone awkwardly. One of the studio executives is looking at him with a polite smile. 

“Sorry, it was…” He casts about for a suitable excuse and finds nothing. “Sorry. What was the question?”

This time, when his phone buzzes, he ignores it. You can wait.

When the meeting gets out, he immediately checks his phone and finds that you apparently decided to livetext the movie to him. He hides his smile behind his hand as he reads.

“ok so we’ve got our typical douchey white man who doesnt believe in soulmates. thats never been done before this is frickin revolutionary”

“but douchey mcdoucheface is crying to his one female friend which shows he has a sensitive side aww”

“his words are ‘welcome home master’? is dmdf (douchey mcdoucheface) destined to find love in a maid café or is he just kinky”

“ITS U!” (This one has attached a photo of a rather unflattering freeze frame of his face.)

“omg hes soulmated to a sexbot (aka u) but robots dont have souls…or do they…the drama…the intrigue…the TITLE DROP…”

“sidenote, what kind of friend gets a friend a sexbot anyway isnt that sorta a weird present. anyway”

“lol now dmdf grows a set of standards? ‘i cant have sex with the sexbot bc it doesnt have my words!’ 1. neither did the folks u had sex with in the intro and 2. how would u kno if u didnt even ask”

“cue drinking session with the female friend of course. and then u pick him up and tuck him in aw u luuuuuv him”

“day 2, hour 3. have run out of popcorn. have also run out of fricks to give about this movie tbh”

“pls tell me dmdf isnt going to have sex with this random chick—oh. yep. hes gonna have sex with this random chick. gr8”

“’why do u even care? its not like ur my soulmate!’ imagine me screaming and pulling out my hair and then more screaming”

“the big reveal! u had his words all along! WOW ITS ALMOST LIKE THIS WHOLE MOVIE COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED IF HE JUST ASKED THE ROBOT INSTEAD OF MAKING ASSUMPTIONS LIKE A JERK”

“but at least u and dmdf live happily ever after at least as happy as you can get with a gIGANTIC FRICKING JERKOFF”

“ok im calm. the movies over and im calm. hang on tho lemme look it up on rotten tomatoes i have to know”

“15% HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA”

That last one was from about ten minutes ago. Mettaton rolls his eyes and responds, “I’m glad you find my pain amusing.”

Your response is quick. “i laugh to keep the tears at bay. anyway that was truly. something”

“I did warn you.”

“yes u did. ur acting was good tho for what its worth it was just, yanno, literally everything else”

“I’m glad you think so. Please tell me you’re going to watch something else, though. I can’t bear the thought of your opinion of me being based solely off of that movie. I can send over a basket of my favorites, if you want. And more popcorn.”

“you dont have to do that! besides my opinion of you is just fine movie or not :)”

He ignores the way his SOUL flutters at that. “Still.”

“how about a compromise? you can come over sometime and we can have a movie night!”

“That sounds nice. How about next week? I have the evening free on Wednesday.”

“sounds good to me!”

That night is his biweekly dinner with Alphys. They keep in touch pretty regularly because she’s his mechanic, but they have dinner every two weeks because she’s also his friend. His best friend, really. She orders takeout Chinese and talks about Undyne, her SOULmate, and he talks mostly about work.

In the middle of dinner, he gets another text from you. It simply reads, “im still thinking about dmdf and how much i want to kick him in the face”

“What are you smiling about?” Alphys asks curiously. 

Mettaton coughs, putting away his phone. “Just a text from a friend.”

Alphys raises an eyebrow. “You’re not usually much of a texter.”

“I text you,” he says defensively.

“Yeah, and only me. Who’s this friend?”

He presses his lips together. “Someone I met at a café, is all.”

Alphys, ever observant, offers, “If it makes you uncomfortable we don’t have to talk about this, you know.”

Mettaton sighs, running his hands through his synthetic hair carefully. “I’m not uncomfortable necessarily, it’s just…new. There’s not much to say. We’re having a movie night next week because they haven’t seen any of my work except for Soulless.” He makes a face.

“Ugh. That one was terrible.”

“That’s what I told them!” He laughs. “They insisted on watching anyway and texted me running commentary.”

“They sound like fun.”

“I suppose. I like them, at least.”

“That’s good,” Alphys says, nodding. “I’m glad you’re making friends.”

Mettaton smiles quietly. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is mostly texting sry
> 
> i think mtt is the type who's pretty outgoing and social but doesn't actually have many friends. also as a texter he uses a ton of emoji this is just a Fact
> 
> next chapter is movie night!


	4. Evenings with Mettaton

He shows up next Wednesday with three of the best films he’s ever been in and microwaveable kettle corn. 

You welcome him in enthusiastically and you both get right down to it, popping in what’s probably his favorite, A Meeting of Souls. It was up for an Oscar, he tells you proudly, but got edged out by a film about the monster-human war that resulted in the monsters’ imprisonment Underground. It was a pretty big controversy because the movie’s cast and crew were all human—the monsters were CGI—and the way the story was told was biased towards the human side. The monsters boycotted, obviously, along with a number of monsters’ rights advocates, but the Academy was still all-human at the time and argued the film’s artistic merit outweighed its flaws.

You watch A Meeting of Souls with rapt attention, silent until the credits, when you scowl. “I haven’t seen that other movie, but this one was amazing. It should have gotten the Oscar.”

Mettaton preens. “Thanks. I agree.”

“I loved your character. And that one line? What was it, like…’I may not have a SOULmate, but I am still worthy of love.’” You press a hand to your chest, eyes closed and smiling dreamily. “So good.” 

“I’ve always liked that line myself. I think it’s important. We have so much of this culture surrounding SOULmates, like you’re nothing until you meet them, and I think that’s such a harmful thing for young people to hear.”

“Yeah, plus people that don’t meet their SOULmates at all! I know it’s pretty rare, but it does happen. And people just ignore it.”

“Exactly!” Mettaton enthuses.

“Like, I know I’m never going to meet my SOULmate, and it took me so long to get used to that idea. I wish I had somebody to tell me it was okay when I was younger and thought my entire life was in the future when it was really in my hands all along.”

Mettaton nods. “I completely understand.”

It’s not until the next movie starts playing that he asks curiously, “Why is it you think you won’t meet your SOULmate?”

“Getting a little personal there, aren’t we?”

He blanches. “Oh, my apologies—“

“Nah, it’s fine. Everybody always asks.” You look down at your lap, playing with the hem of your shirt. “I have a word.”

“Well, yes, that is usually how it works,” he jokes confusedly.

“Just one word. In the singular. I can’t count how many times other people have said it. For all I know I met them a long time ago.” You shrug. “Put simply, I gave up.”

Mettaton can’t stop himself from blurting out, “You too?”

“Huh?”

He takes your hands in his, beaming. “I only have one word too! Same problem, I hear it all the time.”

“Holy crap, really? I’ve never met anybody else in person.” Your face is open and bright, the delight evident. “This is so cool.”

“Are there others?”

“Well, yeah. There’s an entire dating site for people whose word is ‘hey’.”

Mettaton wrinkles his nose. “Oh, gods, perish the thought.”

“Seriously.” You giggle. Then you seem to realize that your hands are linked with his and look down at them with an odd expression on your face.

“Sorry, dear, I wasn’t thinking—“ He attempts to pull his hands back, but you just smile, letting one go and squeezing the other.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

You watch the rest of the movies like that, hands entwined and whispering quietly to one another between bites of popcorn.

\-------------

After that, your relationship with Mettaton only improves. You text all the time, and movie nights become a regular occurrence. You move through his filmography with relative ease and move on to his television appearances. You take special delight in pausing the shows at his worst moments and even start a blog called ‘relatablepicturesofmtt’.

(He denies it, but he’s an avid follower.)

About two months in, he invites you to his standing dinner with Alphys.

“Are you sure?” you had asked, biting your lip. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“It won’t be an intrusion, dear. She wants to meet you.”

You grudgingly acquiesced, and now you’re standing at the door of…well, saying it’s a strange house would be an understatement. It looks like a very large fish. It’s a very tall, white fish—like a three-story white fish—but a fish nonetheless.

You look at Mettaton, hoping he’ll help you out here and explain why the house is a fish, but he just knocks on the door imperiously, yelling, “Alphys, open up!”

He’s shown you pictures of Alphys, and the person who opens the door is not her. It’s, well, another fish. A human-shaped fish. There’s a lot of fish going around, but you’ll be darned if you’re going to be rude to Mettaton’s best friends. You open your mouth to greet the fish person, but Mettaton beats you to the punch.

“Undyne. What are you doing here?”

“What, can I not be home for a nice dinner with my SOULmate?”

Mettaton pouts. “You get her every other day. I thought we agreed you’d go over to Papyrus’ house when Alphys and I are having dinner.”

Undyne grins toothily. “What, and miss the chance to rib one of my least favorite people about their new friend? By the way, hello, new friend.”

“Hello,” you say bemusedly. “Um, I can come back—“

“Don’t be silly! Alphys has been dying to meet you.” Undyne puts a hand on the small of your back to guide you, smirking all the while, and you can swear you hear someone growling. Do they have a dog or something? “You never mentioned they were hot,” Undyne calls out over her shoulder as you’re pushed towards the kitchen. “They are, though.”

“I know that!” Mettaton protests indignantly. You squeak. You’re not exactly accustomed to attractive people thinking you’re also attractive.

“Undyne, stop terrorizing (Name),” comes an exasperated voice from the dinner table. Now that, you recognize, is Alphys. “We want them to stay, remember?”

“Oh, they can stay as long as they want.” Undyne winks exaggeratedly, leaving your side to join Alphys. 

You hear the growling sound again, and it takes a second for you to realize it’s coming from Mettaton.

“Undyne,” says Alphys reproachfully.

“His face is funny, though.”

Alphys levels her with an even gaze, and Undyne relents. “Fine. I was joking, mostly. Call off your attack bot.”

You prod Mettaton’s shoulder to get his attention. “Hey. You okay there?”

His lips are pursed. “Yes.”

You look into his eyes searchingly, but he looks away, frowning. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it.” Sitting down at the table, you smile at Alphys. “I don’t think we’ve properly met.”

“N-no, but I feel like I know you already,” Alphys says shyly, squirming in her seat. “Mettaton talks about you a lot.”

“Same goes for you. He’s told me a little bit about your work. You’re a scientist, right?”

She nods emphatically. “I’m, um…I do a lot of research on the nature of SOULs, but I’m also a pretty big fan of robotics.”

“So not just a coincidence your best friend is a robot?” You’re grinning, but Alphys’ eyes dart to Mettaton’s, worried.

“Um…well…”

“She built me this body, actually,” Mettaton cuts in nervously. Alphys gapes. She knows better than anyone that Mettaton doesn’t really like talking about his origins. “I’m technically a ghost inhabiting a robotic shell.”

“Oh, cool!” You’re about to ask more questions, but then you see Mettaton’s facial expression, his gritted teeth, and change your mind. You grip one of his clenched hands. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Yeah.” He slowly unclenches his hand so that he can hold yours. The feeling is soothing, and he finds himself relaxing.

“So, then, Undyne, what do you do?”

The rest of the dinner goes smoothly, and by the end of it you’ve added Alphys’ number to your growing collection—and Undyne’s, to Mettaton’s horror. 

“What could you possibly need her number for?” he demands.

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep it PG,” Undyne says with a devious smile. “PG-13, maybe.”

“Undyne!” Alphys scolds, and Undyne turns her grin on her SOULmate.

“Now you, I can’t keep the same promise,” she purrs, reducing Alphys to a red, stuttering mess.

“Gag me,” Mettaton groans, taking your hand to pull you away from the spectacle and out the door. “SOULmates, am I right?”

“I think they’re sweet,” you say placidly.

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, they are. To the point of nausea.” 

“Nausea or no, thank you for taking me to meet them,” you say, looking up at him and smiling softly. His SOUL flutters in its glass container, like it does so often with you lately, and he ignores it again, like he’s been doing for the past two months.

“No problem, darling. But if you want to do it again, I might need some time to recover.”

He drifts off that night to the memory of your subsequent laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> undyne designed the house herself
> 
> she's so ooc in this chapter lol. oh well. if i want a flirty fish i will have a flirty fish


	5. A Birthday for Mettaton

Three months later, it’s time for Mettaton’s annual birthday bash. He doesn’t really remember his actual birthday—ghosts just sort of come into existence, it’s not exactly an event—but he does celebrate the anniversary of the day Alphys completed his body. 

Mettaton may not have many friends, but he definitely has a lot of people that pretend to be around his birthday, seeking to get an invitation to one of the biggest parties of the year. He’s never been very good at saying ‘no’, so the event always gets a little out of his control, honestly. This year you suggested he turn it over to a planner, and it’s taken a lot of the stress off of his shoulders.

The planner has decked the venue out in pink and black—not very imaginative, but he doesn’t blame them, either—and everything looks very festive. When he enters the room, he finds you on top of a ladder with a very fetching flush high on your cheeks, re-taping the end of a streamer to the ceiling.

Leaning against the wall, Mettaton smirks and calls out, “Looking good, darling.”

You shriek and nearly fall. When you’ve regained your balance, clutching to the top rung of the ladder for dear life, you glare down at the robot. “Mettaton! What if I had died?”

“I would have caught you,” he waves off. “I see the preparations are going well.”

“You’re not supposed to be seeing anything,” you complain. “It’s supposed to be a surprise. Also, you came before I could get ready. I look like crap.”

“You? Never.”

You stick your tongue out at him, then climb down the ladder and give him a hug. “Happy birthday, Mettaton. Or…you know. Whatever.”

“Thank you, dear,” Mettaton says, returning your hug happily. “Anyway, how about I make sure this place doesn’t burn down while you change?”

“All right. Thanks.” You flash a grateful smile at him, then make your way to the nearby bathroom, hefting a garment bag over your shoulder. 

His SOUL flutters again, but by now, he’s given up pretending that he doesn’t feel something whenever you smile at him. Or hug him. Or do pretty much anything, really. Of course, you’re a very charming individual, so there’s that, but…he thinks there’s probably something more to it. Probably, he thinks resignedly, he likes you. In a romantic sense. Not that he has much experience with the feeling, but he had brought his symptoms to Alphys, and after she stopped squealing, that’s what she had said. 

His thoughts are interrupted by your return. Mettaton had insisted on taking you out shopping for an outfit for the night, so he knew vaguely what you were going to look like, but the real thing is better than anything he could have imagined.

“(Name),” he breathes, crossing over to take your hand and kiss it—which is probably a bit over the top, but then again he is too, so he thinks he can get away with it—“You look absolutely ravishing.”

You scrunch up your face, but you’re smiling. “Ravishing is such a creepy word.”

“What, you don’t want me to ravish you?” Mettaton teases. 

“Maybe later,” you say, rolling your eyes. “For now, we have a party to focus on.” You pull your phone out of your pocket to check the time and frown. “Alphys should be here already.”

“Alphys is here! I mean, I’m! I’m here!” A high, breathless voice comes from the stairwell, panting. “Why did you pick a venue with so many stairs, Mettaton?”

“I did offer to give you a ride.” Undyne appears from behind Alphys, looking as calm and collected as ever. 

“That’s embarrassing, though,” mutters Alphys, bunching up the fabric of her dress.

“Do you need a drink?” you inquire, already crossing over to the bar area. “There’s ginger ale and stuff. Oh, actually, I requested some of that weird yellow soda you like, too—“

“Really?” Alphys chirps, immediately cheering up. “Can I have that?”

“You can have that and a baby umbrella,” you say, presenting the parasol-topped soda with a flourish. “Boom.”

“Oh, I could keep you,” Alphys says fervently, taking a deep sip of the soda, then freezes and peeks at Mettaton. “But, uh, I won’t. I will leave you, for, uh…for other people to keep. Not that you’re a possession, but, um—“

You chuckle. “Breathe. Undyne, you want anything?”

“I’m good.”

“All right.” You come back around to Mettaton. “We only have a few more people before we can start.”

“The party isn’t for another hour and a half, darling,” Mettaton corrects.

“But presents start as soon as our two other guests get here. We figured you’d be tired when the party ended, so we’re doing it before.”

Mettaton hadn’t known he was going to get any presents. Sure, Alphys usually gives him a little something, but…Feeling a little light-headed, he protests, “You didn’t need to—“

“Of course we needed to! It’s not a birthday without presents!” You grin at him. “Or without cake, but that’s later.”

In the next fifteen minutes, the two ‘surprise’ guests show up. It’s Frisk, accompanied by Toriel. You explain, “Obviously Frisk isn’t going to stay for the party itself, but they wanted to give you something and wish you a happy birthday anyway. And them and Toriel are kind of a package deal, so.” 

He watches you carefully whispering something to Frisk, Frisk nodding emphatically and signing something back. Emotion wells within him, and he wonders how he got along without you for this long. Gods, he’s got it worse than he thought.

He’s not left alone to contemplate that for very long, though, because Frisk runs up and hugs Mettaton’s legs.

“Hello, dear,” he coos, overtaken by affection. He and Frisk didn’t precisely get along well at first—and yes, that’s an understatement—but over the years since they’ve been released, Mettaton’s grown quite fond of the kid. “Thanks for coming.”

Frisk signs, “Happy birthday! I made you a card.” They hand it over proudly. It depicts a very anime Mettaton surrounded by macaroni. He’d thought they were a bit old for that, but…

“I got help from Papyrus. He’s your biggest fan.”

“Ah, yes.” He doesn’t exactly know Papyrus well—they’ve only met once—but he’s aware of the skeleton’s predilection for pasta from Undyne. “Tell him thank you, and thanks to you also.”

Alphys got him a boxset of an anime about cyborg romance, which is pretty normal for her. They used to watch a lot of anime together, especially when she was working on his body, and she still keeps him more or less up-to-date on stuff she thinks he’ll like. 

Toriel, who is for some reason blushing, tells him she helped on the cake, which is coming out after the presents are done. Even Undyne got him something. It’s an oversized tshirt that says ‘dweeb’, but it’s something.

You go last, giving him a slim rectangular object. He tears open the wrapping to find a DVD case. 

“A movie?”

“A special movie,” you clarify. “We’re going to watch it now, if that’s okay.”

You don’t wait for his answer, plucking the case from his hand and going over to the wall, which has a flatscreen TV and a DVD player hidden underneath. 

You start up the movie, anxiously bouncing on the balls of your feet while you look at Mettaton to gauge his reaction.

It’s a montage of different people—monsters, humans, young and old and everything in between—holding up signs. “YOU’RE MY FAVORITE!” “YOU SAVED MY LIFE!” “WE LOVE YOU, METTATON!” At the end, it flashes between hundreds of people, all beaming and all holding additional signs that say “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, METTATON!”

As soon as it fades away, you start babbling. “Um, I know it’s not much or anything. I just started this post asking for birthday submissions. It got pretty big, it was actually sort of hard to keep it from you, but, um—I thought you might like to know just how much you mean to everybody, all your fans and stuff, because you also mean a lot to me and I’m just really happy you’re my friend and, uh—“

“(Name).”

You go silent, shifting your weight back and forth and looking down.

“I love it. Thank you so much.”

You slowly look up, smiling hopefully. “Really? I thought it might be sorta weird—“

“It’s not weird at all. Thank you.” He pulls you into a hug again, because he can and because he wants to. You feel perfect in his arms, like you’re meant to be there.

He’s starting to think maybe you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "i mean the alternative was framing a picture of my butt because you like it so much but i decided to hold off on that until next year"
> 
> next chapter: cake, a party, and some drama


	6. It Wouldn't Be A Party Without Cake, And It Wouldn't Be A Mettaton Party Without Drama

You pull away from the hug, clearing your throat, and take a second to calm yourself down. Mettaton hugs always leave you a little woozy. “All right. Cake time!”

You help Toriel bring out the cake, grinning all the while. You set it on a nearby table and step away so that Mettaton can see it in all its glory.

There’s a silence, until Toriel says dryly, “I just want to make it clear that this was not my idea.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Mettaton moves forward to examine it. “(Name) is the one obsessed with my butt.”

Lying on the table is a life-size replica of Mettaton’s butt, a fantastic cake construction resplendent in fondant and edible jewels. 

“I’d call it a healthy fixation,” you say airily. “And you’re not innocent either. I know what my name was in your phone for the first few weeks.”

He shrugs. “I speak only the truth.” Spinning around, he declares, “It’s audacious and beautiful and I adore it.”

“I told you, Toriel!” you cheer happily. “I have the best ideas.”

Toriel shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “Let’s get this thing all cut up. There’s only so long until the party starts.”

“It’s a pity we have to destroy such a work of art,” Mettaton says, sighing dramatically and watching the cake butt being parceled out to all of the pre-party participants. “I hope you took pictures.”

“Obviously,” you sniff. “I submitted them to your favorite blog, you know the one.”

“Excellent.” Reaching out to take the plate of cake from Toriel, he observes, “Chocolate and raspberry?”

You wink. “I know what you like.” Alphys is still working on Mettaton’s food-to-energy converter, so he can only have a small amount of human food at a time, but he does have his preferences. 

“Yes, you do. This is delicious, Toriel, thank you.”

The rest of the cake is wrapped up and put in an out-of-the-way refrigerator, already stocked full with hors d'oeuvre for the upcoming party. Mettaton thanks everyone for coming, Toriel and Frisk wave goodbye and take their exit, and you show Alphys and Undyne what you’ve dubbed the ‘fun room’, a small, inconspicuous room with a television playing anime. You’d set it up because you know Alphys gets uncomfortable at parties and you wanted to give her a place to get away to when she was feeling antsy.

Soon enough, the real partiers start arriving. You find yourself a nice corner to observe from. Famous people of all sorts—actors, singers, models, the works—show up in fancy clothes and greet Mettaton like he’s their oldest and best friend. Mettaton responds with apparent enthusiasm, but you know him well enough to know that he’s actually a little bit irritated. You would be too, you suppose.

Safe in your corner, you reflect on your relationship with Mettaton. You’re friends—really good friends—and obviously you’re grateful for everything you have, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish there was something else going on. Like, something involving a lot more dating and a lot more kissing. 

You noticed pretty early on that you felt drawn to Mettaton. At first you assumed it was just part of his natural charisma, but after a while it became pretty clear that you just had a ridiculously large crush on him. By now, you were pretty resigned to it. It wasn’t like it would ever go anywhere, anyway, and you figured eventually you’d get over the whole thing. And besides, who doesn’t have a little bit of a crush on Mettaton? You’re not exactly exploring new territory here. He’s nice, attractive, talented, and—well, incredibly narcissistic, but he can pull it off. He’s perfect crush material, and he’s also completely unattainable.

But is he? whispers a rebellious little voice in your head. He said your word. Maybe—

You nip that recurring thought right in the bud, because yeah, he had said your word—and so had tons of other people, thanks. You once had a job where you had to pass out flyers on the street. You had heard ‘no’ dozens of times in one day alone. That first day, you had gone home and cried and cried, and the next morning you had washed your face and hardened your heart and decided that destiny wasn’t for you. That wasn’t going to change just because a hot robot came along. 

“What’s a lovely little thing like you doing all alone in a corner?” comes an amused voice from in front of you.

You snap out of your reverie. “Huh?”

“Seems a pity. Beautiful things shouldn’t ever be without someone to appreciate them.” The speaker is a brunette with his short hair pulled back into a ponytail and smoldering eyes. You vaguely recognize him from somewhere or another. 

“Does calling a person a ‘thing’ usually work for you?” you inquire calmly. 

He laughs, a rich, bold sound. “I’ve actually never been called out on it before.”

“First time for everything.” You look at his eyes, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

“You’re fun,” he comments. “Why have I never met you before?”

“Why would you have?”

“I know most people in the business.” He doesn’t seem to be bragging, only stating a fact. “I don’t know you.”

You snort. “I’m not in the business. I’m nobody important, trust me.”

“Everybody’s important.”

You roll your eyes, then narrow them speculatively. He really does look familiar. Almost like—your eyes widen and you point at his face. “Douchey McDoucheface!”

He blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re the guy that played—well, I can’t remember the character’s real name, but—you know. In that movie Soulless.”

A delighted smile curves on his face. “You know, I’ve never heard him called that before, but I might have to change that from now on. He really was terrible, wasn’t he?”

“So bad,” you agree, nodding. “I wanted to kick him in his douchey face.” The stranger’s smile grows, and you backpedal, “Not that your face is, in itself, douchey. Just, uh—“

“No, I understand.” He sighs. “I hated every second of filming that movie. Back then I was just starting out and needed anything that I could get, but in retrospect it was a horrible idea. The only highlight was getting to work with Mettaton.”

“What was it like, working with him?” you ask curiously. You’ve never met any of his costars before, although you’ve read a few interviews.

The stranger deflects the question with a question of his own. “Are you a fan, then?”

“Something like that,” you say awkwardly. Mettaton has never really been clear on whether he’s comfortable about other people knowing you know each other or not, but you suppose you should have been prepared for questions at a party like this.

“I’m jealous,” he says, eyes twinkling playfully. “I wish I had a cute fan like you.”

“Then make movies that don’t suck,” you say, but this time you’re smiling too. 

“Ooh, ouch. I’ll have you know I’ve been doing much better lately.”

“I’ll have to look you up, then. At least then I’d know your name.”

“Did I not give it?” he asks mildly. “I’m Sebastian.”

“(Name).”

“(Name), huh,” he says, like he’s tasting the sound. “Well, (Name), would you like to da—“

It takes a second for you to register a nearby growling sound. It sounds familiar. Sort of like—

“Mettaton!”

You look over the stranger’s shoulder, where Mettaton is indeed present and scowling.

“Sebastian.”

The easy smile falls from Sebastian’s face at Mettaton’s angry tone. You’re not sure what he’s angry about, but something must have made him really mad if he’s showing it. You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you’re still not sure whether you’re allowed to act like you know Mettaton already, so you look down at your shoes awkwardly.

“(Name). Would you follow me, please?” 

“Huh? Oh, well—“ Maybe something’s gone wrong with the party? “Yeah, okay. Sorry, Sebastian.” You smile apologetically. “Let’s talk later, okay?”

“Yeah. See you, (Name).”

But with the way Mettaton drags you off, a possessive arm around your waist, Sebastian has a feeling he won’t be seeing you later at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes sebastian is basically based off of (in name and appearance only, i have no idea what the dude is actually like) sebastian stan. sue me ive been reading a lot of bucky fics recently
> 
> mettaton really needs to get that possessive streak under control


	7. No

As soon as you get out of earshot of Sebastian, Mettaton hisses, “What were you doing?”

“Um, talking?”

“He was flirting with you.”

You think back. “Well, yeah, I guess. Seemed sort of like that was his conversational shtick, though.”

“You were flirting back.”

You bark out an incredulous laugh. “What? I definitely was not. I insulted him, like, at least three times.”

“Sounded like flirting to me,” Mettaton says mulishly. 

You stop in your tracks and turn to face Mettaton. “What is this about?”

“I’m—I mean—you just—“ He huffs, frustrated, and looks over your shoulder. 

When a few minutes pass in silence, you hazard a guess. “Were you angry because I was talking with Sebastian?”

“…Maybe.”

“Because it was Sebastian or because it was someone that wasn’t you?”

Mettaton presses his lips together and says nothing.

You exhale slowly and run your hand through your hair. “I don’t really get it, but…I’m allowed to talk with other people, you know? I’m even allowed to flirt with them, if I want.”

“I know,” he mumbles grudgingly. “I just—I wish—“ He wishes you wouldn’t want to. He wishes he were enough. He wishes you were his.

He doesn’t say any of that.

Finally, you say, “I’m going to go get something to drink, okay? Maybe you should sit down or something. You look a little bit tired.”

He doesn’t respond, and you frown, but leave him anyway.

Maybe he is a bit tired. Maybe the loud music is getting to his head. He makes his way to the ‘fun room’ and plops down next to Alphys.

Alphys, bless her SOUL, always knows what to do. She pauses the show she’s watching, presses a finger to her lips to shush Undyne, and starts stroking his hair. Outside, the music booms, but it isn’t quite as loud in here. It’s nice.

“I think I just messed up,” Mettaton eventually says.

“How so?”

“I just saw them talking with somebody else, and they were flirting and he was about to ask them to dance and I got so _mad_. I should be the one they’re talking with and flirting with and—and, gods, I sound like a possessive jerk.”

“Maybe a little,” Alphys says carefully.

Mettaton sighs. “I couldn’t even tell them why. I should have just said it. I should have said I was jealous because I like them, but I didn’t say anything. And now they’re probably angry with me and they’ll hate me and not be friends with me anymore and—“

“Anxiety attacks are usually my thing,” Alphys interrupts. “I’m sure they don’t hate you. They might be a little confused right now, but I doubt they hate you.”

“But they don’t love me either.” Mettaton nuzzles into Alphys’ neck. “I want them to. Being with them feels so—right. I can’t explain it, but—“

“You don’t need to, because I know exactly what you’re talking about.” Alphys exchanges a meaningful look with Undyne, and Mettaton stiffens.

“No. They’re not my SOULmate.”

“But they had your word!”

Mettaton scoffs. “’Mettaton’? Them and hundreds of fans. Besides, it wasn’t like they responded when I said my first word to them either—“

The door slides open, and all hell breaks loose.

“Mettaton! Are you saying that your SOUL word is your name?”

“I—well—“

“Who’s this fan of yours? Are they here tonight?”

No. They can’t find you. He won’t let them have you. “No, they’re—who let you in?” Mettaton demands. “Someone get them out, I didn’t authorize any reporters—“

But the damage is done, in more ways than one. You’re standing behind the reporter, holding two glasses of water, eyes wide and almost—hurt? And then you’re gone somewhere and Mettaton can’t go after you because he has to deal with this fiasco and his manager is hustling him out the door yelling something about damage control.

You’re back in your corner, squatting and staring lifelessly at the ground.

It ends up being Sebastian who finds you again. “(Name)? Didn’t expect to—whoa, you look awful. Are you all right?”

“He’s my SOULmate,” you whisper, because that’s the only thing running through your mind right now.

You had been maneuvering through the crowd to get a glass of water to Mettaton in the ‘fun room’ when you saw a shady character listening in at the door. 

“Excuse me?” you had asked, deadly calm. “What are you doing there—“

The reporter had hushed you, and you were about to demand that he leave when Mettaton raised his voice and you accidentally overheard part of his conversation.

“They don’t love me either. I want them to. Being with them feels so right. I can’t explain it, but—“

“You don’t need to, because I know exactly what you’re talking about.” Alphys. You shift uncomfortably. This really isn’t something you should be listening to—

“But they had your word!”

“’Mettaton?’ Them and hundreds of fans—“

There’s more, but you don’t hear it, because your blood is rushing through your ears. His SOUL word—it’s Mettaton? He—but that’s—

You remember your first meeting as clear as day. “Mettaton?” you had asked, sounding out the strange word on his scarf, and he had glared at you and said, “No”—

Holy crap. Mettaton was your SOULmate. Sure, it was only two words, but chance of both of them occurring together being a coincidence was too low. He’s your SOULmate, and—

The reporter has slammed open the door and is questioning Mettaton. “Who’s this fan of yours? Are they here tonight?”

“No, they’re—“

And that brings everything crashing down in just one word. “No.” You hate the word even more now, your SOUL word, the word that’s caused nothing but trouble since the day you were born, and now the word that means that he likes somebody, one of his fans, somebody who had his SOUL word, but it’s not you. Because you’re here, and they are apparently not.

You’re brought back into the moment by Sebastian’s voice. “Huh? Who’s your SOULmate?”

“Mettaton.” You look up at Sebastian, into his concerned gaze. “Mettaton’s my SOULmate, and he’s in love with someone else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE DRAMA!!!


	8. Misunderstandings (A Lack of Faith)

It’s all over the news the next day. “METTATON’S SOUL WORD REVEALED!” “METTATON HAS AN UNREQUITED CRUSH ON A LUCKY FAN!” “COULD YOU BE METTATON’S MATE?”

Mettaton doesn’t text you—probably busy dealing with the fallout—and you don’t text him either. You just need some time, you tell yourself, some time to process. After all, this isn’t all that different from before, is it? The only difference is now you know he doesn’t like you like that. And that he’s your SOULmate.

Okay, maybe it’s a little bit different.

After your confession to Sebastian, he had just breathed, “Oh, sweetheart,” and put a hesitant hand on your shoulder. You nearly started crying right then, but you held back until Sebastian drove you home, leaving you with his number and an admonition to text if you needed anything. The tears didn’t come until he carefully closed the door.

Gods, you had thought you were done with crying over your SOULmate. You had thought you were fine with destiny giving you the short end of the stick. And if it had been anyone but Mettaton, you’re sure you would have been all right, but…it is Mettaton, and you’re not all right.

Mettaton has a lot to deal with himself. He gets thousands of chirps in the next few days, most of them running along the same lines. “Mettaton Im your soulmate!” “Remember me? You signed my photo of u and said hello darling. Those were my words!” “i said ur word and u said mine! DM me!” That’s not even counting the hundreds that just say “Mettaton”. Every message is like a stab to his SOUL. He doesn’t respond to any of them. He does, however, like a few of the posts on Fumble that call out ‘fake fans’ for being so quick to take advantage of the news. Nobody knows the account belongs to him, anyway. Nobody except for Alphys…and you.

He’s the tiniest bit miffed that you haven’t texted him words of sympathy and support—even a joke, or something. Anything to make it better. Your Fumble account is all radio silence, too. It’s uncharacteristic of you to not have anything to say on the matter. He hates texting first, so he waits and he waits, and the longer you go without saying anything, the more anxious he gets. It’s not like he saw you safely out of the party, right? What if you’re hurt or something?

Finally, about three days later, he gets impatient and sends you a text. By now, he’s comfortable enough around you to drop some formalities. “are you ok?”

You read immediately, but it takes you about five minutes to respond. “Yes. Are you?”

And crap. You don’t use proper punctuation and capitalization unless you’re upset about something. Are you mad because he left you at the party? Surely not, you should understand that he couldn’t stay after that reporter attacked him. 

He thinks for a while about what to say, before deciding on, “no, but you’re not either.”

“Sorry. I know all of this must be rough on you. And seriously, don’t worry, I might not be fine right now but I will be.”

“yeah, it’s not been fun ): want to talk about it? I can come over tonight?”

“Sorry, I’m actually busy tonight. Tomorrow?”

That raises a red flag immediately. You’re never busy, and you always have time for him. He frowns, tapping his fingers on his kitchen counter. 

The decision is pretty easy. He’ll just go over to your house and check up on you. It will be a nice surprise, he’s sure, and then when you’re obviously not actually busy, he’ll just stay over and watch a movie or two with you. A movie night is just what you both need to cheer up.

Happy with his plan, he waits until around six and then makes his way to your apartment. When he gets to your door, he can already hear the sounds of a movie playing. Busy, huh? Well, you’ll just have to rewind it, won’t you? He knocks three times and waits for you to come.

You don’t come, but someone else does.

“Sebastian?” Mettaton screeches. “What—“

“Mettaton?” Sebastian looks just as surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Mettaton checks the door again. Yep, right apartment. “I could ask you the same thing. What have you done to (Name)?”

Sebastian makes a little indignant noise. “Done to them? I haven’t done anything, we’re just—“

“Sebastian? What’s up?” You come padding into the entryway, wrapped in your fluffiest blanket, and stop, eyes widening. “Mettaton?”

“Am I having a bad dream?” Mettaton demands. “What is Sebastian doing in your apartment?”

“We’re watching a movie,” you say bemusedly. “I did say I was busy.”

“You’re never busy!”

You cross your arms, but you don’t look very intimidating in your blanket-swaddled state. “Sometimes I am.”

“Not when I need you!” 

Your face falls. “I’m sorry. I know you’re having a crap time of it, just—I needed—“

“Him? You needed him?” He knows he’s snarling, but he can’t stop himself. 

“A day! I needed one day, Mettaton! That’s why I said tomorrow! One day, and—then I could pretend everything was all right—“

“You don’t have to pretend around me. We’re friends! I came here because I wanted to help—“

“You can’t!” Your voice is anguished. “You can’t help, Mettaton, not with this one.”

“And he can?” He jabs a finger violently in Sebastian’s direction. 

“Yes! Or, well, maybe! I hoped so!” You massage your temples. “I don’t know. Probably not. I don’t think there’s a solution this time.”

“Just tell me,” he pleads. “I don’t like seeing you unhappy.”

You stare at him, then pull the blanket around you more tightly like a protective shield. “I…found out who my SOULmate was at the party.”

Mettaton’s SOUL drops. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My SOULmate. I know who they are.” You exhale slowly. “And I found out they don’t want me.”

Mettaton can’t think clearly. You have a SOULmate? They don’t want you? Who wouldn’t want you? And why—he should’ve been the first one you told, he’s your best friend, why Sebastian, why—

“Who is it? Him?”

“No,” you say haltingly. “It’s not him. But—“

Sebastian steps in between you and Mettaton, frowning. “They don’t have to tell you.“

“Stay out of this. Who is it?” His tone is dangerous, monotone. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t—

“Mettaton, my word is ‘no’.”

For a moment, he doesn’t get it. How on earth does that have anything to do with anything? But—oh. Your first meeting. You had said ‘Mettaton’, and he had said—

“You’re my SOULmate, Mettaton.” 

He feels like he’s drowning. “You think that’s funny?”

You immediately draw back. “What?”

“You’re—gods, you’re just like all the rest of them. Is this a joke to you? Find out the celebrity’s SOUL word and pretend you’ve got their matching word?”

“I—Mettaton, I would never—“ You reach out, and he shoves blindly, mind blaring _keepawaykeepaway_ , barely noticing that he’s pushed you until you stumble backwards and into Sebastian’s waiting arms.

“I thought you were different. I thought you were my friend!” he shouts. “And you want to know what the worst part is? I wanted it to be you.”

The last thing he sees before he storms out the door is your confused face and your hand, still outstretched towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perhaps some of u thought i might resolve the drama in this chapter…but instead i layered MORE DRAMA like some kind of SICK DRAMA LASAGNA
> 
> in my grand tradition of coming up with silly alternate names for social media sites, fumble is tumblr and 'chirps' are tweets
> 
> pls take note of the updated chapter count! we'll be wrapping this up soon


	9. The Aftermath

You stare blankly at the door for about a minute after he leaves.

“Are you all right, (Name)?” Sebastian asks anxiously.

“Um…” You’re having difficulty parsing what just happened. “Yeah. I think.”

“Here, let’s get you sitting down.” He leads you over to the couch, and you sit down heavily, looking at a spot on the wall with a bemused expression.

Sebastian immediately starts apologizing. “I’m so sorry, if I hadn’t been here none of this would’ve happened—“

You wave him off absentmindedly. “Nah, it would’ve come out eventually. Probably actually better to get it out of the way.”

“But—“ Sebastian now looks just as confused as you do. “Aren’t you mad?”

“Mad?” The feelings roiling in your chest finally resolve into one, burning conclusion. You smile grimly. “Oh, I’m fricking _pissed_. But not at you.”

“At…Mettaton?”

“Heck yes I’m pissed at Mettaton!” you growl, clenching your fists. “What the crap is wrong with him? We’ve been friends for how long and he seriously thinks I’d betray his trust just for a piece of his pompous robotic behind? News flash, Megatwit, the world doesn’t revolve around you and your artificial butt. If I really wanted to get my grope on I could just smack an industrial-sized chunk of silicone, it wouldn’t be that difficult—“

You’re brought out of your rant by Sebastian’s surprised laughter. “You should be angry all the time. Not that you’re not always a delight, but this is spectacular.”

You scowl. “You’re awful.”

“Oh, definitely.” His face turns serious. “But you have every right to be mad. He overstepped himself.”

You sigh and burrow further into your blanket. “I know he’s just not thinking clearly. He’s gotten all of those messages from fans and it’s got him worked up. Like, logically, there are so many reasons I wouldn’t lie to him about this. But…”

“You can understand and still be mad at him,” Sebastian says, rubbing circles into your back. “Sometimes a jerk is just a jerk.”

“Yeah, I guess.” You shoot him a small smile. “Thanks. For being here, I mean.”

“There are worse places to be than by the side of a lovely, charming young individual.” He winks audaciously, and you roll your eyes and reach for the remote to start the movie back up (All For All, Sebastian’s most critically acclaimed film).

“It’s an upgrade from ‘thing’, at least,” you mutter. He just grins at you and returns to watching the movie.

And, well, if after you fall asleep on his shoulder he watches you instead, you never have to know.

(Okay, actually, that makes him sound like a creepy hundred-year-old teen vampire. Shaking his head, he switches the television to Food Network and watches _that_ instead.)

\----------

Mettaton spends a while pacing in his living room. He can’t calm down enough to get to sleep—or, more accurately, the charging stasis that approximates sleep for him. He starts to prepare some tea hoping it will soothe his mind and ends up smashing his favorite mug when he discovers he’s picked lemon verbena. He lies down and remembers how lost you looked when he slammed the door. He gets back up and starts to pace again.

He doesn’t understand how this happened. You’ve never been one for celebrity hype before, and now you’re acting like a horny fan? It doesn’t make sense. He feels like he’s missing something important. If only he could think properly! But the only thing in his mind is _you’re my SOULmate, Mettaton_ and Sebastian at your apartment and _they don’t want me_.

He blinks. Wait, what? Were you saying _he_ didn’t want you? What a ludicrous idea. He wonders where you got it. After all, it’s because he wants you that this hurts so much.

Well, another piece in the world’s most confusing puzzle. He puts it aside, gets into bed, and force powers himself off. He hates doing it, but he hates running out of battery even more.

In the morning, he feels even worse—whether it’s because of the force powering or yesterday’s debacle, he’s not sure. He texts Alphys, but she’s busy until the evening, which means he has to wait to see her. His manager cleared his schedule—time to deal with the SOUL word situation, or whatever—so he doesn’t have anything else to keep him occupied, either. Grumbling, he settles in for a long, boring day of daytime television. At least when he sees Alphys she’ll make everything better. She always does.

Nighttime comes, and Alphys greets him with a hug and an invitation to the couch. “Let me get some ice cream and I’ll be right with you, okay?”

“So, what exactly happened?” she calls out while she’s over at the freezer. “You said it had something to do with (Name), but…”

“They told me they’re my SOULmate,” he huffs, feeling the wounds reopen.

He hears the sound of metal clattering on the ground, then frenzied footsteps over to the couch. “Wait, what?!”

“You heard me. I went over to their apartment for a movie night and—well, they had said they were busy but it turned out they were just watching a movie with Sebastian—“ He wrinkles his nose, but continues—“and I confronted them and they said they needed time to deal with something and I couldn’t help and when I pushed them further they told me they had found out who their SOULmate was at the party, and then they said it was me.”

Alphys gapes. “Well, um…congratulations? What the crap are you doing here, then?”

“No, not congratulations! They’re obviously lying like everybody else, taking advantage of the opportunity to try and nab themselves a celebrity!”

Alphys’ eyes narrow. “(Name) wouldn’t do that.”

He throws his arms up in the air. “Well, that’s what I thought, too, but here we are.”

Alphys sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Okay, I’m confused, so can you recap exactly what they said? In detail.”

“Well—“ He thinks back. “They said that they had found their SOULmate but that whoever it was didn’t want them. Which is strange, because why would they think that? But whatever. And then I pressed them about it, and they said their SOUL word was ‘no’ and I remembered our first meeting—that’s what I said when they said ‘Mettaton’, you see—and then they said that I was their SOULmate. And then I accused them of lying and left.”

When he opens his eyes, he sees Alphys staring incredulously at him and shrinks back. “What?”

“If it were Undyne, this ice cream would be on your head. As it is, I don’t want to deal with the cleanup.”

“Huh?”

“Mettaton, what—how do you mess up that badly?”

This is not how he expected this conversation to go. He expected a lot more comforting, not a lecture. “Mess up? How did I mess up?”

Alphys carefully sets down the ice cream. “Okay, let’s just put aside the fact that you’ve been drawn to (Name) from the moment you met, let’s even put aside that they’re not the sort of person who would lie about something this important. Do you remember when you told me they told you they only have one SOUL word?”

“Yes?”

“And that they hear it frequently?”

“Yes. Where are you going with this?”

Alphys looks ready to strangle something. “They told you that months ago. Way before they knew your SOUL word was Mettaton.”

He starts to feel nauseous. Grasping desperately, he tries, “Well, maybe they—were hoping, or—maybe it’s another common word—“

“What’s an easier explanation? That they concocted some elaborate plan to ruin a perfectly good friendship in order to have a miniscule shot at a date or that you’re an oblivious jerkwipe?” She looks at him expectantly.

In a small voice, Mettaton whispers, “Dear gods, (Name) is my SOULmate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all will be resolved next time
> 
> sebastian has a cruuuuuush but unfortunately for him he's not endgame ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ sry sebastian


	10. All We Wanted (All We Need)

Alphys sinks back into the couch and grumbles, "He finally gets it."

"My SOULmate. It's (Name)." Mettaton repeats breathlessly.

"I think we established that."

"My perfect match is (Name) and I accused them of lying about it in order to get into my pants."

"Yeah, you're pretty much a world-class douche," Alphys says conversationally. Mettaton can't even bring himself to snipe back. He just groans and buries his face in his hands.

After a while, he resurfaces and gazes dolefully at Alphys. "How do I make up for this?"

"Well, an apology might be a good start," Alphys suggests mildly, absentmindedly running her claws through Mettaton's synthetic hair. "But honestly I don't know beyond that. You really messed up, and that isn't something that just goes away."

"I didn't mean to, though!" he protests uselessly. "I mean, I thought—well—good things like (Name) being my SOULmate don't just _happen_! And Sebastian was there and I was just so angry and, and—" He stands up, pacing, then pauses as a thought comes to him. "They said their SOULmate didn't want them. That means they think—me? I don't?"

"Guess so," Alphys says dryly. She knows him well enough to know that he's stalling, trying to pick the situation apart so he doesn't have to go back and apologize yet. He's never been great at apologies.

"But—huh. Why? Why on earth would they think that? Have I been giving off—vibes, Alphys?" He looks down at his hands curiously as though he might find transmitters there, quietly emitting 'not-interested' signals. "I mean, who wouldn't want them? They're perfect."

"I guess that's something you'll have to talk with them about. When you go apologize. Like, right now."

Mettaton blanches. "Now now? Are you sure—"

"Yes, Mettaton," Alphys says exasperatedly. "The longer you wait the worse it'll be."

"Well, um, I mean, they might want—like, space, to process—"

"You don't want them to process this! You want them to not hate you! Now get out of here. I will drag you."

Mettaton raises a well-manicured eyebrow at that, looking derisively up and down at Alphys' diminutive stature.

"Fine, I'll hack into your motion controls and march you out this door myself, so help me!"

He edges towards the door, looking affronted. "I thought you said my firewalls were secure from attack."

"From everybody but me," Alphys hisses, shoving him over the threshold. "Go."

"Fine," he pouts, trudging over to his car. Opening the door, he hesitates and yells, "But—"

Eyes flashing, Alphys yells, "There will be no buts except for your own planted firmly in your front seat and driving over to their apartment! And don't think I won't know if you go anywhere else. Your chassis has an embedded tracker and we both know I have the ability to make your life hell." Scowling now, Alphys slams her front door, grumbling something about robots being more trouble than they're worth, she didn't sign up to be anybody's babysitter much less their relationship counselor, gods save her—

Mettaton shudders as he buckles in. Alphys can be awfully scary when she wants to be.

But she also gives the best advice, so he does as he's told and makes his way over to your apartment. And, yes, maybe he goes under the speed limit and two different people honk at him and one person flips him the bird, but honestly he's never been the best driver anyway.

Biting his lip, he climbs up the stairs to your floor and stands in front of your door for a few seconds before uncertainly ringing the doorbell.

After a moment, you open the door. Your eyes widen slightly, then narrow.

"I think I've told you before that you should check the peephole before opening the door," Mettaton supplies helpfully, then immediately winces. That wasn't what he meant to say. "Wait, um—"

You slam the door in his face.

Okay, he probably deserved that, he reflects mournfully, before knocking on your door again. 

"Go away," you say, your voice muffled slightly by the door.

"But we need to talk—" he protests. 

"No, we don't! You don't have anything to say that I want to hear."

"What about I'm sorry? To start?"

You don't say anything after that, so he knocks again, more frantically after you don't respond. Unfortunately, when he's emotional he still has difficulty controlling his strength sometimes, and he knocks a hole straight through the door.

He sees your shocked face through the new hole, before you stomp over to the door and open it, shouting, "What the frick, Mettaton?!"

He winces again. "Sorry. That, uh, that wasn't intentional, I'll replace it."

You cover your face with your hand and sigh long-sufferingly. Eventually, you drag the hand down, clenching it into a fist, and ask, "What do you want, Mettaton? You made your opinion about me pretty clear earlier."

"I was wrong," he says earnestly. "I went to Alphys and she explained—"

"It took Alphys to make you realize that I'm not the sort of person who would lie about something as important as this?" you screech incredulously. 

He winces a third time. "I, um—I never said I was—particularly intelligent."

"No crap," you mutter, unclenching your fist to run your hand through your hair. Even knowing you're mad at him, he still wishes it was his hand touching you instead.

Clamping down hurriedly on that thought, he says miserably, "Look, I'm a jerk and you don't owe me anything, but I wanted to apologize. And to explain, maybe."

You stare at him, your expression indiscernible. After a few moments, you roll your eyes skyward and mumble, "Fine. Let the record show that I'm far too nice for my own good."

"The record's always shown that," Mettaton says, not even attempting to hide the unadulterated affection in his voice. 

"Now is not the time for that crap," you say sharply, opening the door further to allow his entrance. You give him a wide berth, though, and his SOUL pangs. It wants to be close to you.

So does he, really.

But he realizes that he's getting a second chance he doesn't quite deserve, so he sits at the opposite end of the couch from you, as directed, and hunches over slightly. You've wrapped yourself back up in blankets, like earlier when Sebastian was over, and—

"Where's Sebastian, then?" Mettaton asks curiously, but a hint of bitterness creeps into his tone.

You glare at him. "Went home. You know, yesterday, when you left."

Mettaton nods, not trusting his voice.

You sigh. "He's a nice guy, you know. He doesn't deserve—whatever this is." You wave at him vaguely.

"I know. He's—probably better for you than I am, really." There's more than a hint of bitterness this time.

You look at Mettaton steadily. Finally, you say, "I think you're getting ahead of yourself. You promised an apology and an explanation."

"Right. Well...yeah. Sorry. I blew up at you for no reason, and I made a terrible assumption, and I betrayed your trust in me. It was just hard to believe, you know? Because I wanted—"

Your face falls. You clear your throat and eke out, "Look, I know this isn't—it doesn't have to mean anything. I know you like someone else, I'm not going to take that away from you. I mean, despite what you seem to think, I'm not a bad person. I would never force someone to be with me."

"I know that, of course you wouldn't—wait." The rest of what you said catches up with him, and he gapes confusedly. "Wait, what? Someone else? Who?"

You frown. "The person who wasn't at the party."

His eyebrows furrow. "No, seriously, what are you talking about?"

"Before that reporter interrupted, you and Alphys were talking about how you liked someone who had your word, and then they asked you if this person was at the party and you said no, and—"

It takes a moment for that to register. When it does, his mouth drops open and he shakes his head vehemently. "Wait, no, no, (Name). We were talking about you. I like you. I have for months."

Your mouth drops open in an echo of his own. "But—you said—"

"I didn't want them to come after you, there was a guest list, and…” Realization dawns over him. “Is this what you meant when you said your SOULmate didn’t want you?”

“Yes,” you mutter reluctantly.

Great. Another thing he managed to mess up. Softly, he asks, “(Name), how could you ever think I was anything less than completely yours?”

He was going for romantic, but your gaze turns flinty. “Well, I mean, the fact that your instinctual reaction to finding out about us was to inform me that I was just like all of your worst fans sure didn’t help. Actually, a better question might be what ever would have made me think that you liked me as more than a friend. Or if you ever even thought we were friends at all.”

Horrified, he protests, “Of course we were friends! Best friends, (Name), I can’t believe—“

“You can’t believe?! Yeah, well, imagine how hard it was for me to believe that my so-called best friend would rather think I betrayed our friendship in order to take advantage of his moment of vulnerability so that I could get with him than even consider for a moment that I might be his SOULmate! Imagine how I felt when you forced me to talk about something I very clearly did not want to talk about, by guilt-tripping me, by the way, and then decided that I was lying about the entire thing! And, while we’re imagining, how about we imagine you having to go to your other best friend and get a character reference before you’d believe that I’d never do that to you!” Angry tears are welling in the corner of your eyes, and you swipe at them aggressively. “I don’t know what kind of crap definition of friendship you’re operating under, but whatever it is, I don’t really know if I want to be a part of it.”

He shrinks into himself and stares at his lap. Guiltily, he whispers, “I assure you it was never my intention to make you feel that way. Any of that. I just…I wanted you so much for so long that when I finally got you it didn’t feel real. I’m still having difficulty comprehending, especially after all this, what I did to you, that the universe would ever think I deserved someone as wonderful as you.”

When he looks up at you, you’re staring again, but if anything you look thoughtful. “I…really don’t know how to respond to that.”

Mettaton sighs and says morosely, “It’s all right, you can just say that you don’t feel the same way and I’m an unadulterated douchenozzle and you never want to see me again.”

“Well, you’re definitely a massive robojerk,” you say, tapping your finger against your chin. “And I’m honestly not sure how I feel about seeing you right now. But I don’t know where you got the impression that I didn’t like you back.”

His eyes brighten. “You mean—you—?”

“Well, yeah,” you say, like it’s obvious. “Don’t think that means I’m not still pissed at you, though.”

He starts to reply, but you hold out a hand to shut him up. “No, let me talk. Look, I understand the insecurity, the whole how-can-they-be-mine-I’m-just-me-and-they’re-them thing. If there’s anything I get it’s that. And I assure you I’m also all over the whole incredulous I-thought-I’d-never-find-my-SOULmate-I-only-have-one-word-and-I-hear-it-all-the-time thing. I didn’t exactly…plan for this, you know? I didn’t plan for you. I didn’t even consider the idea we were SOULmates until I found out what your word was, and I never would have, I don’t think. And, I mean…I guess if I’m being generous I had some more time to deal with it than you did, and I’m also not famous and haven’t had to deal with being harassed about this the past few days. But.” You fix him with an intense gaze. “Even with all that, even though I understand, that doesn’t change the fact that when presented with a difficult situation, you didn’t even bother asking questions or thinking things through before accusing me of the worst. And that’s not something I can get over just like that. It’s not something either of us should get over, because I think it’s indicative of a bigger problem, and unless we fix it this can’t work.”

“…This?” Mettaton asks hopefully.

“You’re very good at picking up on only one part of a sentence,” you chide, but without any real heat behind it. “Yes, this. I mean, like it or not, we are SOULmates. We can’t just ignore that.”

He wishes he could hug you. He wishes he had responded any way but the way he did, so he could hug you now and kiss your temple and go to sleep and see you in the morning and make both of you lemon verbena and do whatever else it is new SOULmates do. Or, well, people who’ve just figured out they’re SOULmates after months of apparently mutual pining.

But he had done it, he had hurt you, and he has to pay for that.

Biting his lip—a nervous habit that Alphys hates, especially because she’s the one who has to do the repairs when he breaks the silicone—he asks, “So, what do I have to do?”

“I don’t know. There’s not really a how-to for this sort of thing. I don’t know how to make you trust me, and I don’t know how to make myself trust you again either.”

He beats down the kneejerk response that he does trust you, because even if it were true—and honestly, he’s not sure whether it is right now, he’s not really the best at introspection—he knows he hasn’t shown it well.

“I do know that I want you to apologize to Sebastian, though,” you continue, sounding like you’re thinking out loud. When you check on his reaction to that, his lips are pursed and you think his teeth might be clenched, but he nods reluctantly.

“Yes. I suppose that makes sense.”

“It definitely makes sense,” you correct. “He was only ever trying to help.”

“I knew that.” Mettaton rubs his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. “I…yeah. I knew that.”

You look at him, assessing. Slowly, you say, “He’s my friend.”

“So I surmised.”

“But…” You stop, searching for the right words. “He isn’t you. I wouldn’t want him to be.”

He feels like you just slapped him. Drawing back, he snaps, “I get it, all right? He’s all—friendly and, and—organic. And I’m self-centered and rude and everything good about me is artificial, and—“

You halt him in the middle of his rant with a gentle hand over his clenched fist. “Mettaton. I didn’t mean it like that. What I’m saying is that—Sebastian is great, and he’s my friend. But you’re already all I want.”

“Oh,” Mettaton breathes. “Oh. I—okay.”

There’s a semi-awkward silence, during which you blush and Mettaton tries to parse a world in which you want him. Finally, you say, “Besides, I’m rather fond of some of your artificial assets, if you catch my drift,” eyes crinkling in a smile, with an exaggerated glance at his posterior.

He’s about to waggle his eyebrows outrageously and make some kind of joke, but you interrupt him, the sincerity in your voice taking him aback. “And the best parts of you are the parts of you nobody could ever fabricate. Don’t sell yourself short.”

He chooses not to respond to that, at least verbally. He simply opens his hand to catch your own and squeezes it. You smile lopsidedly at him.

There isn’t a lot of talking after that, even though you both know there’s still a lot to say. You just start up a movie. Your hands stay entwined the whole time.

\-----------------

The next week, Mettaton calls Sebastian up (with the phone number you helpfully supplied) to officially apologize. Mettaton offers dinner, and Sebastian accepts. The tabloids get a picture and start up an entirely new set of rumors about Sebastian being Mettaton’s rebound after he got rejected by the mysterious person who had his SOUL word but was not at his birthday party. Sebastian, who has an excellent poker face and a mischievous streak a mile long, waxes rhapsodic about Mettaton’s talent and accidentally-on-purpose lets slip that he frequents the blog dedicated to pictures of Mettaton’s butt.

(Only you and Mettaton know the truth, after he confesses. He actually created the thing. He cheerfully offers to make a blog dedicated to your behind as well, an idea which Mettaton supports wholeheartedly but you immediately shoot down.

They do it anyway. You pretend you don’t know.)

The next month, you, Mettaton, and Sebastian all go out to dinner together. You and Mettaton hold hands under the table. This time when the picture gets out on Chirper, Sebastian gleefully ‘helps’ by rechirping the photo and adding as a caption the dictionary definition of polyamory.

(Piled together comfortably on the couch later that night, Sebastian confesses he has two sets of words. The first, “There’s no good way of saying this, but you’re a little bit on fire,” and the second “Probably because he’s so hot, but I’m guessing the open flame right by your frankly glorious hair helped”. He curls in on himself and waits for your responses, but you just hug him and offer to follow him around with matches if he wants. Mettaton suggests his built-in flamethrower. Sebastian laughs with tears in his eyes and presses whispered thank-yous into your shoulder.

It takes him another two years to find them, on the set of a movie where he’s playing a scientist and forgets the Bunsen burner isn’t fake, and it takes another minute to put out his hair, but everything feels worth it when he chokes out, “This admittedly might be the smoke inhalation, but I think we’re meant to be with each other,” and their eyes widen and they take turns hugging him like they’ll never let go.)

A day after that picture gets out, Mettaton’s agency schedules a press conference introducing you as Mettaton’s SOULmate (and clarifying that Sebastian is a very good friend who, yes, has a thing for Mettaton’s butt). There's outrage and crying and a general fan consensus that you aren't good enough for Mettaton. This pisses Mettaton off, and it takes some wheedling to convince him not to respond to every angry fan with a personalized picture of his middle finger.

(You do, however, allow him to take a picture of himself, rumpled and scowling, with the errant finger extended, and upload it to relatablepicturesofmtt. You don't tell him about the other pictures you take and post, day after day, of him adorably grumpy after powering online for the day, of him crying about old movies, of him taking a power nap on the couch. Of, on occasion, you leaning down to brush a kiss against his temple. He downloads those ones to his phone for long shoots. Eventually, even the angriest of the fans are forced to admit you're a pretty cute couple.)

On the anniversary of your first meeting, you meet up together at the cafe. You sit down after procuring two cups of lemon verbena and kissing him on the cheek.

"So, I got you a gift," you say, presenting him with a package.

"Oh, you didn't need to. But gimme." Mettaton makes grabby hands for the lumpy package, and you hand it over, laughing.

Ripping into the package reveals a neon pink scarf. He examines the ends and finds a knitted version of your face, done up in the same style as his promotional scarves.

Tilting his head, he unravels the rest of the scarf. It's emblazoned with the word 'no' in black where his scarf had originally had his name.

He looks up to see you grinning and pulling out the scarf that started it all and winding it around your neck. "Thought it was fitting. We match, see?"

He feels a rush of love, seeing you in his ridiculous scarf with his name on you for all to see. "Yeah," he says softly. "We really do."

(Later that night, he'll start playing the video he's been working on for the past two months, the one with all of his fans helping him ask you to marry him, and he'll get down on one knee and hold out a ring and desperately hope you say the one word he's been waiting for.

But for now, he's perfectly content to just be with you, talking animatedly about your respective days and sipping tea. That's all he really needs, anyway.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note that i totally skipped over the process of forgiveness. i had no idea how to do it tbh so i just timeskipped like a wimp
> 
> they dated for about 6 months which is. a bit short but mettaton moves fast when he wants to and he thought the anniversary would be Romantic
> 
> anyway im so sorry for the long wait everybody! i've been really depressed and not doing much of anything really but...i had a long plane flight so i figured it would be a good idea to finally finish this up. thank you all so much for sticking with me!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading, as always! please feel free to talk with me on tumblr at anuninterestingperson *v*


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